Transience
by AlternateDarkness
Summary: A short-fic/drabble collection. Contestshipping if you put your goggles on. Alternative title: a record of the development of AD's writing.
1. And It All Begins

Well, real plots seem to have a hard time getting into my head, and I don't think anyone wants a whole bunch of ridiculously short pieces to fill up the FFN search page, which is why this came into being. Hopefully, I'll be able to update this at least once per week, but I'm not sure if that'll actually happen or not. All Author's Notes should be extremely short or non-existent from the next piece and on, and everything should seem less like the start of something.

* * *

When she grins at him, he knows he's in for trouble.

"Well then, Drew, I guess you're coming with me."

As she drags him, bodily, to some place he would have known the location of if he'd been listening to her conversation, he resigns himself to the idea that he's probably never going to be able to get out of her grasp.


	2. Flaunt

The second-person point of view will be used in some pieces of this collection (like this one), where "you" is(are?) one of the characters.

* * *

You exit the stage feeling very giddy and excited. The appeal you and your Pokémon had pulled off together was absolutely amazing, based on your score _(29.1, yes!) _and how the audience acted during your act. You soon find the need to go and flaunt the fact in the face of your rival-slash-friend-slash-really-annoying-person-who-always-has-to-be-a-dumb-showoff, because honestly, you don't normally have the chance to do that.

That didn't necessarily mean that you had to bop Drew on the head, but you were feeling uncommonly brave _(did you really just call that bravery)_ and you had to get his attention anyway, so whatever. However, due to some random reason, your voice stops working for a moment, but it's okay: he understands your problem, and waits patiently for you to start talking.

After breathing in and out a couple of times, your airway stops being stupid _(finally)_. "So, did you see my appeal?"

Your rival-friend-etcetera rolls his eyes. "Of course I did. You do know that they play the whole contest on these screens, right?"

You stick your tongue out at him. "Do you really have to be a retard all the time?" you retort.

There. You got him. He doesn't answer for a moment, probably mulling in his mind all the possible ways he could answer that question without saying something unlike him _(he's such an actor, but a really good one all the same)._ He opts with a simple "yes."

You groan and punch his arm. "_Just_, just…did you like my appeal or not?"

He smiles one of his rare smiles, and there's this weird glint in his eye. "May, May, May…you need to stop being predictable. My previous answer was in anticipation of that question." He is now smirking _(and being all stupidly patronizing)_, and you have to backtrack a bit in the conversation to understand what he means.

"_Oh_…oh." _(Jerk.)_

* * *

Please excuse May's somewhat jumbled thoughts. She'd just made a wonderful appeal, after all.


	3. Aftermath

_ LuvAllPokemon, Name Under Construction, Left-to-die: Thank you._

Takes place after the movie _Destiny Deoxys_. Whoop whoop, the chronology is being messed with, and second-person has become easier to write than first or third. Shoot me, someone.

* * *

_Months in the past..._

.-.-.-.

When you're leaving LaRousse City on the cable cars, you find yourself a bit giddy for the next Contest. You wave goodbye to the people you've met and laugh at Ash and realize all of a sudden that, _wow_, you're basically being your normal self. You…guess you weren't really expecting that?

You spend the next ten minutes yelling at Max and you probably would have gone on for longer if the cable car didn't stop. When you exit into the station, you tell your friends (and annoying brother) that you're thirsty, you're going to go get a drink. You look for a vending machine, peer through the masses of people, but all you get is a glimpse of green, of chartreuse, of _Drew_. Suddenly, your heart goes heavy, and you don't want him to see you, except he does, and when he walks over to you, you want to run, abscond, get somewhere far, far away.

Instead (you have no idea why), you hug him. You loop your arms around his neck and pull him close, and the next thing you know is that you're crying into his chest, your elbows are somehow at his waist, and he's made a venture to place his hands on your shoulders. "May, what's…wrong?" he asks, and you almost laugh at the absurdity of his question. You tilt your head up, stare into his eyes.

"Everything," you say, after a second, "everything. I just saw Rayquaza, _Rayquaza,_ Drew. I just saw a Pokémon from _outer space_. And they fought each other. They basically _destroyed_ LaRousse."

He blanches. You wonder why he becomes so pale until you remember that LaRousse is his hometown, and then you feel bad for being so blunt. But then you feel angry for feeling bad, since, well, _he himself didn't have to see the destruction happen, did he? _

His voice jolts you from your thoughts. "They…what buildings…how much…never mind, it's not as though you would know, anyway." He ends up muttering, and his voice is so _timid_, so _not_ _him_, that it turns your world upside down, flips it inside out. Now you feel terrible, and you get angry again, because _honestly why can he make you sympathize with him, he is so mean to you all the time ugh_. But then you just revert to feeling terrible. You can't help yourself. You decide you loathe him.

The two of you stand there for a while, somewhat awkwardly, and you can _feel_ his sorrow through his body. Eventually, your tears dry up, and you realize with not only a little embarrassment that you've gotten the front of his shirt wet. You look up at him again. "S-sorry."

"It's alright," he replies, and his voice is so soft you want to cry again. When you step away from him, he turns around. "I'm going to…survey the damage myself. I'll…see you around, then."

You watch him board a cable car, somber and alone.

You feel absolutely wretched.


	4. Completely Ridiculous

_ SoulSurferfan116: Thanks._

If I ever see a sentence that is forty-six words again, I will...flip out.

* * *

You really didn't think that waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of pebbles against the window would leave you sitting in front of a fire, roasting marshmallows, and watching Volbeat and Illumise fly around with the person who woke you up.

You also didn't think that you would watch the sun rise with him.


	5. Know Your Followers

You're scrolling down on the browser, scanning through the results of your search, when May pushes your chair to the side. You scowl as she positions herself on the desk in front of you so that you can't really see the screen; you're pretty sure that she did that on purpose, just to irk you.

"May, go away. I can't see."

"Too bad." From the tone of her voice, you can tell that she's really enjoying herself. Which is somewhat ridiculous, you think. But then, you're the one who normally irritates her, so you guess that she _has_ to relish any moment when she can annoy you, however little your frustration actually is. "Geez, Drew, you sure have a lot of fansites. Why are you even looking at them?"

You make an effort to push her away, but she doesn't budge. "I think it's somewhat important to know how many different fanclubs you have. Otherwise, you might just get jumped unexpectedly."

She forgets that you can't see her roll her eyes, facing the computer screen as she is, although you know that that's what she's doing anyway, so you suppose it doesn't matter. "Hey, did you know that you had a–"

You succeed in mustering enough force to flip her over onto her side, and she lets herself fall onto her back so that she's lying in an empty space on your table. "…oof." She pushes herself up on her elbows to cock an eyebrow at you. "What, something wrong?"

Closing your eyes, you sigh and make a movement to stand. "No, nothing." Then you get up, out of your seat, and walk away.

Her muttered "O-kay" is loud enough for you to hear, and even though the disappointment and hurt trapped in those two syllables really isn't much _(come on, Drew, she's only a bit upset)_, it's still somehow enough to make your heart break, just a little.

* * *

What Drew had will forever be a mystery.


	6. Reason

Well, I've been gone for a while. Sorry 'bout that. Some stuff came up that I had to take care of.

* * *

"What? How could you? You threw the battle! You threw–"

"May."

"–the battle! Why? First you don't participate–"

"May."

"–in the Contests, saying that your Pokémon are too tired or whatever and that you can catch up, and now you just lose on purpose? Do you think I'm not good enough or something? Now you only have two Contests left, and you have to win both of them if you're gonna get all your ribbons! You are such an a–"

"_May._"

"…What?"

"Didn't you purposely lose to Harley when he was getting his fifth ribbon?"

"Um…yeah, so?"

"Didn't you get the last ribbon you needed today?"

"So?...Oh, wait, I see what you're getting at now….Uh, sorry about, yelling at you. Heheh."

"S'alright. Your shouting was something I expected, anyway."

"…"

"…"

"I'm just worried about you, you know."

"Woah, no way, Maple's worried about me. Hey, someone, call the press, Ma–"

"Shut up!"

"No, seriously, I thought you hated me or something."

"I said, 'shut up'."

* * *

Thanks for reading.


	7. Return to Cameran

_ Sapphyn, theasianwonder: Thanks._

Ugh, this other ship is making me wish that these two were more silly in canon. Oh well.

* * *

"Hey, look Drew, I found what I wore last time when I was here!" May holds up a dress for her companion to see, and he tilts his head towards her in curiosity. "It looks, a bit…childish, but then, I _was_ ten, so oh well!"

Drew blinks, and turns back to the rack of clothes he was perusing. "Do we…really need to dress up?"

"Yeah, totally! You can't find anything?" He shakes his head, and the brunette brings a hand to her chin and assumes a thinking pose. "I think I know just the thing for you! Ash wore it last time, although it was sort of too big for him. It should fit you perfectly, though!"

"You don't even know my size or anything…."

May ignores him, instead giving a squeal as she finds the Sir Aaron costume. "Here it is!" she sings, and plops the hat on the male Coordinator's head. "Here, take this, and go change. I'll wait for you!"

.-.-.-.

When he comes out of the changing rooms, she squeals again, which causes him to sigh irritably. "What."

May flashes him a wide grin and winks. "You look mighty dapper in that, you know. You also look a bit ridiculous. I could still swoon, though."

He rolls his eyes.


	8. sometimes, it's difficult

_Ju5t An0th3r H3d63h06: thanks. __AdorableMe: when I looked at my email this morning, I was like, "woah, woah so many, where did all these come from?" Thank you. Very much. For reading everything (waitdidyoureadallofthemIdon'twanttocheckGodthisislong) and the review. _

To the people who read this story and also decided to read my other story(ies[how are you supposed to make "story" plural with parentheses]), thank you all. And thanks again to the people who are reading this (yes I know I said that like two chapters ago, whatever).

This one was supposed to be a long, stand-alone thing. I don't know what happened to it.

Okay I'll stop talking now.

* * *

_In a dislocated pocket of timespace..._

.-.-.-.

Your name is May Maple, and you are about to battle your longstanding rival and friend, Drew Hayden, in the final round of the last Contest of the year. Only one of you will get the ribbon, and only one of you will go to the Grand Festival.

You wonder why this had to happen with this particular person.

You enlarge your Pokéball and toss it out onto the stage, even as your opponent does the same, and when both your Pokémon are out and ready, you begin the battle.

.

.

.

You win.

.

.

.

You stand in your box of the battlefield for so long, refusing to move as they call your name over and over again, they give up on their formalities, hand you your ribbon, and escort you off the stage.

.-.-.-.

You're almost completely certain he's still in town. If there had been another Contest somewhere, he would have left to train, but seeing as there's only the Festival left, you think he'd let himself wallow in his despair.

You thought you were going to be the one who left the stage without a ribbon and all mopey and sad. You didn't prepare for this, winning. You didn't prepare for him to lose. You didn't prepare for there to only be one ribbon and only one out of you two to have a chance at the Cup.

You think you might be miserable because you won.

…How _ironic_.

.-.-.-.

When you find him in his room, it hits you for the first time that you've never seen him cry before. Sure, you've heard it from Solidad that his tear ducts are functional, but you've never actually seen the salty liquid burn tracks down his face. He turns so that you can see just a bit more than half of his face, having perhaps realized that you'd know what he was doing even if he tried to hide it. You're not sure why he doesn't make eye contact, though.

He doesn't sob. He doesn't make any sound at all, really. He just sits there, all hard-faced and stoic-looking, even as the tears leak out of his eyes and run down his cheeks.

He is the most pitiful thing you have ever seen in your life.

.

.

.

You cannot bear to see him like this. This is a situation that must be remedied immediately; otherwise, everything you know will collapse and rearrange themselves into a mess that you won't know how to deal with, and you think you might go completely insane if that happens.

You know that you can't give him the ribbon you won today. He wouldn't accept it, and you think it might just make things worse.

You also know that forfeiting your place in the Grand Festival would do no good.

You fear your only option is to go crazy.

.

.

.

Luckily, he speaks up.

"Did you only come into my room to stare at me?"

"…You know that that's not it." you reply, flatly. You have no intention to let him tease you even just a little bit, not when _you're_ trying to make him feel better. You're already stressed enough as it is.

"Then wh–"

"Because I'm trying to show my sympathy. Because I don't know what to say. Because I know you're upset and probably at least somewhat angry that you're not going to participate in the Festival, and I don't know how to deal with you when you're this way." You cannot take anymore of this. You cannot stand him any longer. You give up.

You stop trying to not yell at him.

"Because I care about how you take your losses, okay? Because I don't want you to be like this, unmotivated and doing absolutely nothing except crying your eyes out! It's stupid, okay! Even I never was like this! Yeah, fine, sure, maybe I never missed my last ribbon, but that doesn't mean that you can just…just…."

You realize your mistake too late, and he looks like you've wounded him. Good job, Maple.

"I…I…" you stutter, "I'm…sorry. I didn't mean to –"

"Make me feel worse, yeah," he replies, and all of a sudden you're panicky and want to cry, too.

"I'm sorry, really, seriously, I'm terribly sorry, I didn't –"

"Yeah, okay, May. I know. It's okay. I'm fine. See, no tears." He points to his face, which is indeed dry now, and you want to lift your hand to your face, that's how ridiculous he appears when he executes the gesture.

You're still a bit shaken, though. "A-are you sure? I just –"

"I'm _fine_. I'll see you at the Festival."

"…You're coming?" You don't understand. Why would he –

"Yeah, of course. Gotta put pressure on you to win the Cup. 'Cause, you know, you beat me, and if you lose to other people, that'll mean they're also better than me."

You don't have a response. You are busy wondering what you feel like.


	9. A Little Hope Left Over, AU Part 1 of 2

Sometimes, when I run out of ideas that can fit snugly in canon, alternate universe pieces will appear. This is the first one.

* * *

You wake up with blood on your hands. A dull red, red, _red,_ cakes your fingers, your palms, your knuckles, and you find that it is still sticky. You realize that you have stains all over your jacket, your jeans, your shoes, your watch, and when you reach over and pick up your shades, you notice that the drying fluid has smeared over one of your lenses. You don't comprehend.

Your friends' bodies lie around you on the cold, cold stone, and every single one of them is wounded. An arm, bruised and broken, a leg, dislocated, a head, smashed into itself, a hole through a chest, a back, an abdomen, and cuts, cuts everywhere. There is so much blood. So, so much.

You feel absolutely sick.

You stand up, shakily, and you feel unbalanced, light-headed, tired. You wonder how they all died, everyone except for you, when suddenly you are greeted with an onslaught of memories you don't remember having.

The recollections are hazy, muddled, unclear, but you can still understand them enough to know what happened here.

You killed them. All of them.

.

.

.

It wasn't as if you had really wanted to; one of your memories tells you that the urge to kill had been something that was ingrained in your brain, in you, but you feel…empty, you think, like maybe the place where your heart used to be is now only a void. They were your friends, your friends who had gone through Hell and back just to help you, and you killed them.

You just killed them.

.

.

.

You hear footsteps, sharp little _tap tap taps_ that pierce through your mind, and you turn. You turn and you see red. Again.

You are about to end your own life when you notice the brown, the blue, the white, the light, the _life_, in the one who's running towards you, in her, in _May_, and your heart _(maybe it didn't disappear after all)_ shatters. It shatters and becomes whole again.

She hugs you, _hugs you_, like you're no monster, no evil, like you're still yourself. Pure and untainted by your glitched subconscious.

You think that, maybe, she knows you, really, truly, knows you, knows that you never meant to, never wanted to, and, perhaps, even forgives you.

You are broken, broken like a puppet, broken like the friends that lay around you, and yet, you wonder, if, there might be a little hope left over.


	10. Friendly Friends

I think this might qualify under "comic relief"? Can it even be called "comic"?

* * *

"Friendly friends!" a Wigglytuff-suited person shouts, and you are beginning to wonder why you even came here. May tugs at your arm, pointing at the Wiggytuff and swinging your elbow up and down.

You don't hear her, though; your mind is running away from all this hubbub. She has to jab her own elbow into your side to make you pay attention to her, and by that time, you've already walked back to the entrance to the fair, with her latched onto you the whole time.

When you realize this, your face does not flush. At all. _At all_.


	11. Reinvigoration

_Name Under Construction: ;). AdorableMe: There will be a part two, which should elaborate on it more. Maybe._

I wish I could format this differently (AKA FFN is annoying [sometimes]). Oh well.

* * *

It was only ever one story.

.

.

_They conjugate. He flies, she flies, they fly; Icarus flew, Icarus fell, they fall._

.

.

_-[i__.]_

_They splash,_

As she breathes life into him, he starts to sense again.

_(float,) swim._

_._

_-[ii__.]_

_They find._

As he brings her close to him, wrapping his arms around her, she can feel his warmth burrowing into the cold that pervades her, desperate to breach its defenses.

_They reach, they grasp, they grip. (They stand too, perhaps, but people always forget.)_

_._

_-[iii__.]_

As she tumbles, he slips, _(upwards, of course,) _

and _(they tumble, they slip. They rise, and)_

they

.

_see the stars._


	12. Recreational

_AdorableMe: The mistakes are no problem. I'm not really sure anything can be read as exclusively for these two, but I get what you mean. I'll keep that in mind. _

* * *

_When you're at my side the world has hope!__  
- _Bree Sharp_, _"This Side of Paradise"

.

As she takes his hand in hers, he feels a nervous twinge and a fluttering in his chest. He's never been much of a touchy-feely person; if anything, he's the opposite of one, but this time he doesn't find himself recoiling from her. He wonders if this tolerance is due to his familiarity with her or if he's just outgrown his dislike and fear of prolonged skin-to-skin contact (he hasn't let anyone touch him for longer than a minute since more than a year ago, when that fairly embarrassing thing that he won't ever talk about happened).

Either way, they're holding hands, and as she leads him into a dance _(wait what, he thinks, why, she's not supposed to do that, what's going on)_, she smiles. When he takes the reins and brings her into a turn, her grin widens, and she throws her head back and laughs.

.-.-.-.

As the song fades away, they slow their arm swings, their footsteps, and she reaches up to tousle his hair. "You're rather adorable sometimes," she says, "especially when you're out of your comfort zone."

* * *

They were jiving.

Also: Drew learned how to dance with gloves on.


	13. where is the cadence to my authenticity?

"_Hey girl, you know you drive me crazy, one look-"_

"Shut up, Drew, you know you can't sing."

"…_one look puts the rhythm in my-_uh…okay, I'll stop."

"Good."

* * *

Drew, you douche, your forte is in clarinet and some other instruments, not voice, gosh.

(And now people will be yelling at me.)

EDIT: A songfic, avoided. Italicized quotes from Face Down, by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.


	14. fly, meteor, and don't forget to burn

_Snowsheba__: It's nice to have you on board. AdorableMe: Funny, okay, good. It's nice to hear that I can at least get humor down to some extent._

* * *

You are spiraling and diving and spinning, and you shout, "Drew! Stop! Stop! I'm dizzy!" with laughs punctuating the space between each of the words. You can hear his chuckle over the sound of the whooshing air, feel him vibrate against your body, and as you sit on a twirling Flygon, flying in ways that are probably too dangerous for really anyone to attempt, you grin. You grin and grin and laugh, with the sky below and above and around you, with the earth flashing, fleeting, thick streaks of brown and green that disappear the moment you blink, and everything is wonderful.

Flygon turns and plunges, and you let your head fall back as the ground rushes up; you feel like you can pluck the clouds from the sky like so many tufts of cotton candy, white and beautiful and–

You gasp as you are flipped sixty degrees, your stomach flopping, your heart doing a weird skip and a jump, and the rest of your organs feel delightfully odd, when suddenly a mist encloses you, swallows you up, intangible except for the little cool, crisp pinpricks against your skin.

You leave the cloud with your clothes somewhat soaked, and as you press your forehead into the back of his neck, you can feel his damp hair splaying across your crown. As Flygon slows and levels out, you sigh contentedly and tighten your arms around Drew's waist a bit.

You feel him smile.


	15. EagleEye

_Snowsheba: Oh, the benefits of second-person POVs. :D Thank you! (And don't worry about not reviewing, it's okay.) __AdorableMe: Haha, thanks! Ah, sometimes I feel like I don't know how I should be writing, especially when I look at other fics in this fandom, but well, that gives me hope! Also, remember that reviewing's not mandatory, so you don't gotta feel pressured to find something to say. It's always much appreciated, though!_

* * *

When you hear the words "pick a card, any card," drifting across the street to you, your interest is piqued. You certainly don't hear that particular configuration of words every day, no matter how overused it is. The boy with the cards doesn't seem like a magician to you, but he has that air of being a performer, and he has a small, crafty smile upon his lips. The girl in front of him's face is questioning as she plucks a piece of cardboard from his fingers, and she cocks an eyebrow at him as he says something. You think it's "queen of diamonds," but you're not that good at lip reading, and for some reason the wind isn't carrying his words anymore.

She doesn't look impressed as he produces a rose from out of nowhere and twirls it between his digits, over his knuckles and flitting right under her nose. When he makes a move to toss the red flower to another person, however, she makes an audible "ah!" and half lunges towards his hand, grabbing his wrist. His smile turns smug as he hands the stem to her, and she glares at him for a moment. Her expression soon turns to one of fondness, and you wonder about all the things that have happened to them; they seem like they would have a story to tell. She then turns her gaze to the flower in her hand, and she smiles softly at him before she pecks him on the cheek.

* * *

Kissing people on the cheek can be platonic, right? (I mean, come on, French people do that as a greeting [if they're close, of course].) (EDIT: okay, so apparently, la bise is just a greeting kind of thing done by people even if they're not familiar, so forget what I said about being close. Thanks Snowsheba!)

The previously un-officially-announced second part to _Ch. 9, A Little Hope Left Over (AKA the AU chapter)_ should be coming up soon! (Like either as the next piece or the piece after that.) Ch. 9's title has also been changed to reflect that it is Part 1.


	16. release, AU Part 2 of 2

_Snowsheba: thanks for catching that! AdorableMe: well then, thank you. (Oh, and sorry, I don't think this chapter really explains Chapter 9 much at all, so if you're still confused and interested about what's going on, just PM me.)_

It's been a while, hasn't it. Expect sporadic updates from now on until...later. Yeah.

Anyways, the second part to the first part of the AU idea. If you haven't read Part 1 (Ch. 9) or have forgotten what it was about, I suggest you go read that before you start reading this, because it'll make a lot more sense if you see that one first. Or you can just ignore both of these AU chapters. Whatever floats your boat, I suppose.

* * *

**pacify **_vt:_

1. to calm somebody who is angry or agitated, or soothe violent or angry feelings

2. to bring peace to an area, people, or situation, often by using military force to end conflict or unrest

**pacification **_n_

* * *

It happened again.

You wonder if you'll ever be able to be happy.

.-.-.

Sometimes, you think. You think about your old friends, your late family, your past career. The police that want to interrogate you, lock you up, convict you.

Sometimes, you think that you should maybe let them do just that, but then you remember that it wouldn't even help, so you dispel that idea and

_try_

_to_

_forget._

_(but you can't)_

_(if you did, you'd be dead [like _them_])_

.-.-.

She finds you once again, but this time you're not at the scene. You're in an alleyway, hiding in shadow, waiting for the sirens to pass and the people to stop milling about. She cocks an eyebrow at you, expression quizzical, almost as if she wasn't expecting you to be here _(which is ridiculous, where else would you be)_. You frown. You're not sure what to do, and recently you think you've been feeling like that a lot.

You're alive, sure, but you're not not-nokjfhdzajkdhkjbzmnzbailureb raimalfustopendd

ar k

.

You open your eyes to see your hands pressing down on her neck, thumbs pushing against the base of her throat. You panic and throw your arms outward, your fingers brushing her neck roughly, numbly, as they leave her flesh, and you get away from her as fast as you can, tripping over yourself in the process.

You back up against a wall, and you watch, horrified, as she doubles over and massages her throat. You want to speak, want to tell her you're _sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm so, so sorry, I-I-_

_I_

but your voice is dead and all that comes out are rasps.

.

When her breath ghosts over your nose, you decide that the world has turned upside down, all topsy-turvy and oblique and tangled up in confusion. You feel a softness against your chin that turns to strands of hair, and arms wrap tentatively around you like you're some weird glass sculpture that would break the instant you were held too tight.

Her arms fall limply to her sides when you break away from her and dash into the street, disregarding the people who shout in alarm as you barrel through way too quickly for them to catch you. You _gotta get away,_ you tell yourself, and you don't look back.

As you run, a teardrop splashes against the ground, and you can hear it, clear as crystal and muffled into oblivion.

.-.-.

The next time you meet up with her _(in a café in the middle of nowhere, wow, how ridiculously serendipitous)_, you want to apologize for leaving so abruptly. You want to tell her that you were afraid, afraid that the thing in you was going to be unleashed again and afraid that-

_Hush, _she says, before you can get a single word out of your mouth.

.

_She tells you about her experiences with black-outs and fainting and waking up somewhere else and seeing people who she's never seen before, and she tells you about their joy, their merriment, their mirth. _It bubbles out of them, like a fountain that's stopped working properly, _she says, and you gape at her in amazement when she talks because she's like a freaking angel or something, except the concept of angels have become somewhat dumb in some people's eyes and she's not dumb at all so you don't even want to use a word that could be construed as dumb to describe her. She lifts your feelings up, bandages up your mental wounds as best as she can, and when she tells you_

_it happens when there's too much despair_

_you go _

_oh._

oh.

Oh.

She giggles at your wide eyes and pokes your nose.

.

She leaves you for a moment, to allow you some time to mull things over. The cogs in your God-forsaken brain decide to start turning in earnest now, not unlike how they used to move back in your Coordinating days. This is the first time they've done this since you've left that world, and it startles you and you want to stop but you can't, you can't, this is what you are going to do and you have made a plan and _damnit you will carry out this idea no matter what happens because it's the only way to solve your problems. (you kind of hate your plan.)_

When she comes back, you give her a proposition.

.

She sits in shock for a moment. You almost fall off your seat when she yells "No!" at the top of her lungs, and you grab her wrist before she can smack you in the face. You're pretty sure you deserve it, though, so you let her other hand collide with your cheek with a sharp _thwak_ that stings louder than it sounds. You release the wrist you've been holding onto and she collapses into her chair with a satisfied smirk laced with worry.

"May," you say, and you explain your reasoning.

.

She's hesitant at first, real real hesitant to accept your offer, and she pleads with you to find another way. You manage to convince her, in the end, but you can tell that she's still uneasy about it, perhaps even scared. She deliberates for a moment longer, then stands up, seeming to have come upon a conclusion to some unknown question _(unknown to you, at least)_. You get to your feet, too, and once you clear the table she rocks forwards onto her toes and presses her lips to yours.

Two seconds later, her back's turned toward you and she's

gone, gone, _gone._

You're going to miss her.

.-.-.

Later, as you stare into darkness with your life flowing out of you, your voice finds the urge to move and you laugh through the pain, at the absurdity of it all, at how nothing quite fits the way everyone thinks it does _(even though they know it doesn't)_, and you breathe out a

_sorry_

with your

last

breath.

.

* * *

Definition taken from the _Microsoft(R) Encarta College Dictionary_.


	17. persiflage

Partially inspired by some wonderful, detestable people, and therefore, dedicated to them.

(I doubt they even read this though?)

* * *

_Drew, stop snarking._

_Drew, you are so mean! So mean! I'm going to go cry in a corner now._

_I'm not stupid, Drew. I know how to use Repel._

_No._

_Just no._

_Shut up._

_Jerk._

_Wow, really? Drew Hayden, everybody, Drew Hayden._

_Yeah, a bit late for that. Feelings, hurt._

_I'm not /that/ sensitive, geez. I was joking. _

_Ha. Ha. Ha. You are hilarious._

_..._

_I'm pretty sure it's obvious to anyone with eyes that I..._

_..._

_..._

_...__think that you're an idiot._

_But then, I guess I am one too, because how else would I be _

_I mean_

_Ugh, should I even?_

_No. Shush, you._

_Let me think!_

_I_

_uh_

_Nope nope nope screw you._

_IT'S NOT THAT!_

_Please just let me finish what I'm trying to say, okay? Gosh._

_I'm not taking a long time! You just keep interrupting me!_

_...So uh, I'm pretty sure (apology not accepted, by the way)_

_though not a 100% sure, so if I_

_back out of commitment(?), please don't blame me_

_and well_

_okay geez it's not like I'm trying to stall!_

_I'm just fairly sure_

_i mean, like, i've seen signs, i guess, or indications, even_

_that maybe_

_i like you platonically?_

_i mean, not "like," _

_but uh, "love" or something?_

_I...dunno, really. It's...something I've been thinking about lately, and well...conclusions._

_You don't have to reciprocate. You don't even need to feel like you should reciprocate. I just thought I'd tell you, let you know, y'know._

_oh wow haha sorry my brain is a little weird right now_

_it's okay, don't feel bad, i'm not disappointed_

_wait what_

_you think you might_

_really_

_i didn't actually think you were capable of feeling like that, haha (kidding, of course)_

_(or am i? [hahaha def kidding don't worry])_

_but okay, that's good to know._

_..._

_I'm glad I met you._


End file.
